The Misheard Prophecy
by UndiscoveredSpecies
Summary: Enigmatic words from StarClan throw SmokeClan into turmoil. A leader descends into paranoia. Warriors turn on one another. What happens when an innocent cat is caught in the crossfire? Vengeance and tragedy tear the life of an apprentice apart, and when death comes calling for a Clanmate, nothing will ever be the same.


**Hello, friends! Long time, no post…sorry about that. This is a reboot of an earlier story by the same name. Enjoy! ~UndiscoveredSpecies**

Bloodfur crouched in the abandoned badger set, the torrential rain thundering down from the merciless sky. Despite the way his dripping ears were pinned against his head, he could still hear the sound of his Clanmates yowling for his death, their shrieked threats more terrible than anything he had ever heard. He dug his claws into the cold, soggy ground as his sopping fur stood on end, certain that his fear-scent would be strong enough to lead even a kit to his hiding place.

Lightning outlined the world in blinding white and the answering retort of thunder shook the trees to their roots. Bloodfur pressed himself to the ground, trying to control his shaking as he listened, straining his swiveling ears as he struggled to pinpoint where his Clanmates were. Not even the fury of the storm could dissuade them from the hunt this time. If they found him, they would murder him, and they would not do it quickly.

Did he dare make a run for it? Pelt through the forest like the cessation of existence was snapping at his heels, running too fast to try to avoid the thorny branches that would whip his pumping legs and heaving sides? Would he be able to get away, flee his home and resort to life on the lam, punished for a crime he did not commit? Could he live with himself if he ran away?

Heart hammering painfully against his bruised ribs, Bloodfur crawled on his belly to the set's entrance, cautiously pushing his head out into the icy, stinging rain. Water ran into his eyes and threatened to blind him no matter how furiously he tried to blink it away, and the crashing hiss of the storm would easily mask the sound of an approaching cat, even one that made no effort to hide the sound of their steps.

A flitting shadow sent him shooting back into the set, pressing himself against the back of the abandoned den, eyes wide and staring fixedly at the entrance. If he was found here, he would be trapped…

Another flash of lightning blinded him, sending splotches of pink and green spinning across his vision, and by the time he had managed to blink them away, the silhouette of a cat had appeared at the entrance to the set.

Bloodfur, breathless and frozen with terror, could only stare with his heart thundering so viciously that he knew that this cat could hear it. Who was it? He strained to catch a scent through the mud and the freezing rain, but the one he found brought both such intense fear and relief that he was powerless to do more than whisper the name of his mentor. "Falconstripe…"

Another flash of lightning revealed the grief in Falconstripe's yellow eyes, the heavy-hearted slump in his powerful shoulders. "You need to run," Falconstripe said.

It took an embarrassingly long moment for the words to sink in. "You're...not going to kill me? Fawnleap was your mate…"

"I know that," Falconstripe looked down at him, his tail drooping. "But I don't believe that you were the one to kill her-and I'm not going to be the one to send you to StarClan."

"You're...you're not?" Bloodfur asked, ashamed at the kit-like hopeful disbelief in his voice.

Falconstripe shook his head. "No. You might as well be my kit, Bl-Redpaw. You need to run, and you need to run _now,_ before the others catch up." He stood aside to let Bloodfur wriggle up through the mud and the grime to stand beside his mentor, dark ginger fur bristling. His legs were stone; he _couldn't_ run!

Falconstripe looked quickly over his shoulder, ears flattening. "You need to run!"

Bloodfur was helpless to do anything but stare at his mentor, trying to communicate everything he felt in a moment of locked eyes and thundering hearts.

Stinging pain in his shoulder brought him to his senses; Falconstripe, eyes blazing, stood with one paw raised and his curved claws extended. "GO, _NOW_!"

Bloodfur turned tail and ran like he had never run before. He flew over the ground so quickly that he barely noticed the sharp stones that tore the pads of his paws open, his frenzied mind only distantly registering it when he took a turn too sharply, slipped in the frigid mud, and tumbled head over paws down a rocky ravine and came to a crashing halt against a towering pine tree. He leapt to his feet so quickly that the rough bark, made sticky by sap, tore a clump of fur from his shoulder, and he didn't even notice. All he could think about was running, running for his life.

Through the forest, down the mountain slope and deep into RidgeClan territory he raced, only dimly conscious of the strengthening patrol scents around him. Now it wasn't just his own Clanmates that he had to watch for-if RidgeClan (particularly Weaselnose, Jayflame, and Ratpelt) found him, he'd meet just as grisly a fate at their claws.

The terrain was unfamiliar, and he would have plunged to his death in a crevasse were it not for a timely flash of lightning. Claws scraping painfully across rocks, pelt snagging on brambles and bushes, breath ragged and searing in his throat, he ran on and on, leaping over logs and ducking around rocks, determined not to look back as he fled from cats he trusted and the only life he knew.

The storm raged on for hours yet, but by the time Bloodfur reached a place where there were no cats' scents but his own, thick with fear and blood, the rain had lessened to a steady patter and the lightning had moved on to ravage other lands. It was only then did he dare to stop running, and when he did a wave of pain so powerful knocked him to the ground. He curled his paws close to his mud-drenched belly, turning the torn and bleeding pads to the sky so the wounds could be cleansed by rain. Bloodfur let his head fall against a spongy, soaking bed of moss, closing his eyes as his flanks heaved with exhaustion.

Today was not the day that he would die.


End file.
